


A quiet and starry place

by nea_writes



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Anger Management, Character Study, Gen, Kanda drank tequila and I will never forget this, Mentions of other characters - Freeform, Pre-Canon, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-11-10 00:47:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11116395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nea_writes/pseuds/nea_writes
Summary: Kanda wasalwaysangry or upset, for one reason or another. The lightning that had killed him had stayed in his veins since, running him mad and twitching like a live wire. His temper felt beyond his control, snapping at the tiniest things, and later leaving him numbed at heart. Whatever set it off was always inconsequential, and all it did was serve to shame him. Old Man Zu had suggested meditating.Your temper,the old man had said,is yours to control, just as your Innocence. Use it to your advantage, let it feed your strength of will.





	A quiet and starry place

**Author's Note:**

> In celebration of Kanda's birthday (6/6) I finally polished off this old WIP, because who else other than Mexican General Winters Sokkalo would give a fifteen year old tequila?

Kanda rolled his shoulders roughly, glaring down at the Finder at his feet. The entire room was also glaring at Kanda, but he could care less. _They_ asked him for a 'friendly spar', so why should they get mad when he beat their sorry asses?

Sniffing, he turned around and stalked towards where he'd left Mugen leaning against the wall. He passed by the remains of the wooden practice sword he’d used during practice, glancing in disdain at it. It had taken the better part of Kanda's first year at the order to convince people he wasn't breakable (he figured dying on the job once or twice had sorted out their doubts), but it had taken less than a month for him to realize no one was up to par.

The downsides of having superior strength and regenerative abilities — _nothing_ was up to par. It had taken some major readjustment to realize that it wasn't the finders' fault they kept dying — they were just that weak, and no amount of yelling would change that.

Another downside was that when he was angry and upset, nothing would help. He couldn't punch walls, he'd just split skin and then not feel a thing two minutes later. He couldn't fight anyone because he wouldn't even break a sweat. He couldn't even _drink_ like everyone else did because it wouldn't affect him. What bullshit!

He was _always_ angry or upset, for one reason or another. The lightning that had killed him had stayed in his veins since, running him mad and twitching like a live wire. His temper felt beyond his control, snapping at the tiniest things, and later leaving him numbed at heart. Whatever set it off was always inconsequential, and all it did was serve to shame him. Old Man Zu had suggested meditating after discovering the lotus blooming all around Kanda — another thing that set him off at times, when even closing his eyes wouldn’t remove the pink petals from his sight, permanently branded like after images in ghostly shades. _Your temper,_ the old man had said, _is yours to control, just as your Innocence. Use it to your advantage, let it feed your strength of will._

Meditating only did so much, though, and it was harder than it first seemed. He would sit and he'd do the breathing and the focusing but then his knee would start jumping and his fingers twitching and he'd leap up to madly pace around. How could he calm down with this rage under his skin, thriving, running, driving him mad? How could he sit and think of pleasant things when in the next hour he'd be slapped with reality?

He knew it was something to work at, just as he had at his sword training and everything else in his life — but, it was hard, when in the moment all he wanted to do was drown himself and finally silence the angry buzzing in his blood.

In the end, he took his anger out on these practice fights, and stalked away from them with sour faced Finders who cleared the path, derisive in their sneers. Kanda didn’t care. He wasn’t here to make friends or play nice when a fifth of them would be dead by the end of the month. Lenalee was learning her lesson the hard way, but Kanda had been born with his.

It had only been five years, but thoughts of Alma still made his step falter, just slightly. Just as quickly, he shoved the thought away and resumed his steady pace, Mugen heavy and reassuring at his side.

It was time for dinner, and so he showered quickly and wrung his hair out, twisting harder than necessary. He dressed and stormed towards the dining hall, just ready to have the whole day over with so he could sleep and pretend he didn't want to kill the next person to talk to him.

Unfortunately, someone talked to him.

He had managed to get through his entire meal by glaring everyone into silence, but someone must've escaped his sight because suddenly there was a tentative throat clearing behind him.

He turned around to greet a no-name Finder.

"M-master Kanda," the Finder said hesitantly, eyes focusing somewhere on Kanda's chin, and, when Kanda cocked an eyebrow, down to the Rose Cross on his uniform. Kanda had always felt a strange dichotomy with the deference Finders gave him. He was countless years younger than them, but he still felt ages older. In the end, he let them do as they pleased, neither enforcing or rejecting however they referred to him. It suited everyone’s purposes just fine. "There's something... we want to say."

 _"We?"_ Kanda mocked, turning to find that several men had gathered around behind the Finder. "Well, you're blocking my way, so you have about thirty seconds to get your point out."

The Finder looked indignant, but Kanda didn't really give two fucks either way.

"We... have a problem." He paused, and Kanda stood up roughly. Quickly, he continued, "—it's hard to work with you when you won't tell us anything about you!"

Kanda stared at the Finder —shit, what even was his name? Had the asshole just walked up to him and not even bothered to introduce himself? Not that Kanda would have cared, but _still_ — and then pushed past him, carrying his tray. Kanda made it two steps and another Finder tried to accost him, grabbing his arm. Kanda reacted instantly, shoving the Finder hard enough to make him trip over his feet and land against a table, instantly silencing the entire room.

"Don't _fucking_ touch me!" Kanda snapped, and suddenly there was loud raucous laughter from his right. He jerked around and found General Sokkalo Winters lounging on the table the Finder was hastily picking himself up from, uniform hanging loosely and hand clasping a silver flask. Kanda scowled as his laughter wound down into faint chuckles.

"And what the fuck do you want?" Kanda demanded, shifting his weight to one leg.

Sokkalo was still chuckling as he took a swig of his flask before flashing Kanda an easy grin. "Ay, cabrón, cálmate — it's not that serious." He licked his teeth and laughed.

Kanda stiffly lifted his chin and then turned away — Sokkalo, after all, was still a general. A thin veneer of respect was required. Again, before he could make it even two steps Sokkalo was swinging up from his seat with a strange grace, stopping him. "Where's the rush? Here, take this — maybe it'll burn that stick out your ass."

Kanda barely opened his mouth to retort when Sokkalo shoved the flask into his free hand, and then walked away still laughing. Kanda had half a mind to just throw it away, general-status be damned, but there was a faint whiff of liquor and he stilled, throwing a look at Sokkalo's back. Pursuing his lips, he stashed the flask inside his jacket and continued, returning his tray. He left the hall without another word to the gathered Finders, because he didn't owe them _shit._

In his room, he felt vaguely grateful Lenalee was gone on a mission. Not that it would make a difference if she was gone or not, but, well. The relief was still there.

He shrugged off his jacket and held the flask, staring at the silver patterns branded there. It was just bigger than his palm, though he suspected in Sokkalo's hands it'd be tiny. There were words, in Spanish he guessed. He didn't know a single lick of it, and so he moved on to the surprisingly nice designs. A gift, he figured. Sokkalo didn't seem the type of man to buy a fancy flask. A simple man, something Kanda could respect.

He unscrewed the top, peered inside. The smell hit him, then, and he wrinkled his nose, leaning away and breathing out through his nose sharply before bringing it close again.

He sniffed it some more, curious. What was it? Nothing he had ever tasted, he thought. Then again, Kanda hadn't tried many. They all tasted like shit and no matter how much he drank it wouldn't do anything for him.

But, well. What harm would it do if he drank it? If nothing happened, nothing happened. If something happened—

Tentatively, he raised the flask to his lips and took a sip. He immediately balked at the taste, scowling as he recoiled. Oh, it tasted _foul._ Worst fucking thing he'd ever tried, and that was taking into consideration Alma's many weird ass mayo dishes.

At the thought he grimaced, and then took another sip. Like medicine, he thought. Tastes like shit, but it's going to do _something_ good.

 _It better,_ he thought, swallowing more.

Sokkalo was an ass and the flask was half empty, so Kanda quickly finished it. After a few sips the taste wasn't so bad, and on re-evaluation Alma's mayo soba was still shittier.

 _Well,_ he thought, leaning back to rest against his wall, legs stretched out across his bed, _maybe not that bad._

 _Not bad enough that I didn't eat it,_ his memories drifted backwards, to cold tile under bare feet and echoing laughter. _That was nice._

Then he drifted off onto other nice things, like wind tugging at his hair and the sun on his skin. It wasn't until he started admiring Tiedoll's skill with a brush that he realized he was drunk.

 _Well then shit,_ he thought. _I should do this more often. Life is less of a bitch._

He tried standing to put the flask on his end table and wobbled for a moment, and then laughed. "I'm dizzy," he said. Then, "I'm hot." He stopped to admire the double-entendre, and glanced at his door. Maybe he should go ask Sokkalo where he got his shit, because this? This was something Kanda definitely needed to invest in.

He stumbled to his door, enjoying the way gravity seemed to have left him high and dry, because he sure as hell wasn't walking straight. When he opened it, the halls, always so cold, ruffled his hair with the breeze the door made. It was refreshing.

He felt something in his chest, bursting and growing and when he opened his mouth it was simply laughter. It was strange.

He wasn’t sure where we was going, only that he traced paths down the stone walls, fingertips grazing patterns on the cool stonework as he walked. He felt pleasantly buoyant, head light as air but feet steadfast on the ground, still hot to touch but the chill forever chasing him cooling the heated flush.

In a way, he wanted to talk. To spill out the whirlwind of thoughts so they’d leave him in peace, but the one person he would’ve told them to wasn’t there. That was a sad thing, wasn’t it? Kanda wasn’t really all too broken up about it. He had delivered the peace Alma’s rage had sought. But that was just a pretty lie, wasn’t it?

Gratuitous brooding, Kanda realized. Maybe getting drunk wasn’t entirely great.

It was, however, doing something for his nerves. That he was even thinking of any of this without flying off the handle was… a relief. Anger was exhausting, like scorching sun on parched earth, packing it dry. With his mind pleasantly slow and scattered, he couldn’t find the passion to dredge up rage. He was… not content, but okay. Which was more than he’d been in a long time.

He could’ve done without the feelings, but as it was just soothing his nerves was more than enough. Tomorrow, he’d find Sokkalo and ask him what it was, though thinking back he’d certainly drank too much of it. His steps were unsteady, and the soft burning at his chest told him the seal was starting to work. A shame. He wouldn’t have minded staying this way a bit longer.

It wasn’t until his fingertips passed over his door that he realized he’d circle the entire hall. How long had he been aimlessly walking, thoughts drifting? It startled him into stopping, shocked at his own loss of awareness.

He stumbled back into his room, pressing against the door as he regained his bearings. And then, even though it was autumn and his room was up high, he went over to his window and propped it open, squinting against the wind sucked in, cold.

There wasn’t much to see, what with it being some time close to midnight and his room being up so high and on a cliff, but the breeze felt nice, and it chilled the warmth in his cheeks. Nature had a way of always calming him. There was nothing more potent than the realization that he could be bowed over by nature on any day, his own cursed power feeble in its wake.

There was maybe snow, or rain, and occasionally it landed on his face, reminding him of the first time he’d seen rain, barefoot in mud and drenched by it. Tiedoll had simply watched from a nearby awning, saying nothing about the way Kanda had wielded Mugen.

Yeah, he thought sleepily, he could’ve done without the trip down memory lane, but the calmness he felt at last was a relief, rain on dry desperate land.

He closed his eyes, simply relaxing.

Kanda woke up, blinked, and realized he didn't remember a damn thing.

Nothing, not a thing. He breathed in and looked around his empty room, and then laughed, empty and without humor.

He didn't remember a thing.

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:  
> "Ay, cabrón, cálmate."  
> Hey, (dumbass/asshole/bastard — it's a pretty loose, general and casual insult), calm down.


End file.
